


A Sensible Precaution

by ninetiesnecklace



Series: That Way Madness Lies [2]
Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: Fingering, M/M, Masturbation, a lively imagination, a short and pervy almost-character study, evil musings, extended scene 2.2, the one where George loads his pistol before he goes to sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 12:19:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8143822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninetiesnecklace/pseuds/ninetiesnecklace
Summary: Ross is a free man.George, however, is more captivated than ever.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Twisted_Barbie and their suggestion to extend this scene!  
> Fingers crossed it is kind of what you were hoping for.

It wasn’t often that George lost a battle these days. His business strategies proved to be of a successful nature, the patronage of his uncle was helpful when he succeeded and even more so when he failed – seeing other people’s mistakes and learning from them came naturally to George. Not that Cary was prone to making many mistakes, mind you. Yet he and George had different ways of handling things. And this time, this one godforsaken time, he had listened to his uncle against better judgment.

George sighed and rubbed his hand through his face as he walked to the window of his bedroom. It had been a long and exhausting day and outside, night had already drawn. He opened the window to let a breeze in; the air was too stuffy from the surprisingly hot day this autumn had had in store. For a moment he breathed in the cool air and listened into the night. Nothing. All quiet except for the occasional rustle in the trees outside his window. He walked over to the cabinet on the far side of his room and poured himself a whisky, loosening his neck cloth. His nerves were still strained after the excitements of the day and he hoped that alcohol would take the edge off. George wasn’t overly fond of drink as such but in this case, he hoped that it would grant him at least a few hours of sleep. And god, did he need it – the anticipation of the trial had cost him dearly, tossing and turning in his bed during the last few nights, thinking through what else he could do to strengthen the case against Ross. He shrugged off his overcoat and placed it neatly on the chair next to his four poster bed, followed by the waistcoat and the neck cloth. A sigh of relief escaped him when he peeled his shirt from his pale skin and felt a hint of a breeze. Dressed in breeches and boots only he took his glass from the cabinet and sipped on his drink.

Not guilty. George huffed without particular humour. The sharp anger he had felt hours earlier was not entirely gone but right now he was too tired to work himself up again. But how could the jury find Ross innocent? He was certainly to be held responsible for every charge he had faced. Even more so, murder should have been added. Damn Cary, imploring on him to let Cousin Matthew’s death go without mention during the Poldark trial. George took another swallow of the whisky, leaving a slight burning in his throat. All his underhand efforts, the publication of the pamphlet, the distribution thereof… it had been planned so meticulously and even though Francis had voiced his suspicions no evidence could be connected to him. Even his open dismissal of Ross’ wife’s cheap attempts to gain the judge’s favour had amounted to nothing. George’s hand tightened around the beautifully cut glass and with a rough move he shoved it back on the cabinet’s panel. That was well and truly a battle lost. An important one at that.

But as he had said to Tankard: admitting defeat was no option. He would find a way to gain influence over Ross and ruin him once and for all. Perhaps seeing him suffer alive would prove to be a greater gain than seeing him hanged.

George finished his drink and walked back to the window, the light wind leaving a pleasing tingle on his bare chest. Tomorrow, he would plan his next move and consider the situation from every angle. Ideally without Tankard’s constant chattering. Sure, the man was useful – through him George could act without being seen and he dutifully reported on the gossip and facts that were circulated in town, giving George an important advantage. Yet at the same time Tankard began to irritate George. Over the past few days he had began to ask questions that were none of his concern. In a moment of uncharacteristic carelessness, swept away by the thrill of seeing Ross convicted, George had given out information on Francis and his financial status. Information which Tankard had brought up earlier again, trying to present himself to George as a particularly alert consultant. At least George had not mentioned Elizabeth; that part of the plan was entirely his own. And in the future he would make sure to keep Tankard on a tight leash lest he fashioned himself to be equal to George.

One thing he had said, however, had been worthwhile. “You overlook one thing,” George muttered, quoting Tankard’s words to himself. Had the situation been another George would have pointed out that this was the wrong tone to take with him – the impertinence in his words and voice did not sit right with him. But what had followed was not to be denied. In his ambition George had indeed overlooked that Ross was likely to find out about his involvement. The reason for this moment of abstraction was a simple one: George had been certain that Ross would be found guilty. Now that this was not the case George needed to adapt his plan and prepare for a possible revenge on Ross’ part. Which probably took dimensions as extreme as George’s attempts. Ross would surely react in the way he always did: impulsive, rash, possibly violent.

On instinct, George let his gaze wander along the court yard outside his window. It was empty, like it should be this time of night, but suddenly he felt exposed. Standing here, in a state of undress and in the light of two candles he made a perfect aim for someone wishing him harm. With a swift breath he blew out the candle on the windowsill; the one on his bed stand was now the only source of light, clothing the bedroom in reassuring dimness. The smoke lazily drifted upwards and out the window while the glow of the candlewick faded. George fastened the chain on the window handle to the frame, leaving it ajar and stepped backwards into the room. Against his will his heart beat faster but the moment passed quickly – he rubbed over his chest in thought and slightly shook his head. His behaviour was irrational. It had been a long day indeed and he began to see ghosts. Even if Ross’ revenge was probable it would certainly not be carried out tonight. No, tonight Ross would surely celebrate his freedom, taking to drink and passing the time with this scullery maid wife of his.

In an impatient move George pulled the curtains and walked over to his bed. Sitting down on the mattress he pulled off his boots and placed them next to the bed. For a moment he sat there, motionless, listening to the familiar sounds of the old mansion. Well, if Ross actually sought him out tonight he would be stupid with drink and likely no serious threat. George knew this house and its sounds like no one else. If something was amiss he would know immediately. He opened the drawer of his bed stand and took out the pistol he kept therein, turning it slowly in his hands. Loading it would almost be an admission of fear. Or a sensible precaution.

His hand finally reached for the powder and the bullet, loading the pistol diligently. It probably wouldn’t come to this, he tried to calm himself. But just in case Ross showed up he had a means of protecting himself. With careful precision George laid the pistol in the drawer, keeping it open so that he had the weapon close at hand. Then, he rid himself off his breeches, blew out the candle and got under the thin cotton sheet. The sudden worry still had him in its grip as he inadvertently looked over to the curtains, slightly swaying in the breeze.

 _Calm down_. George consciously tried to relax his tense body. He needed rest and the hour was already late. At least tonight he was back in his own bed; the accommodation in Bodmin hadn’t been too bad but nothing compared to the comfort of a room that was not in walking distance to one of the many pubs in town. His pillow was plusher, his mattress didn’t feature a distinct sagging in the middle and the sheets smelled not only clean but spotless.

It was still stuffy in the room, though. Even with the window ajar George felt too warm under the sheet and pushed it to the side, lying naked on the mattress and waiting for the draught to cool him.

Ross. It always came down to Ross agitating him. No one else stood in his way like he did. Back at school they had already had their quarrels but it had been mostly harmless fights, boys being rough with each other and making an enemy out of anyone if the need arose. Who was at odds one day could well be friends the next – Ross and he, however, had never gone that far. They had merely tolerated each other in the best of times. And lately, especially since the Warleggan’s business had picked up, this tolerance had suffered dearly.

George felt the whisky do his work as his body slowly eased up. Whether his mind would follow and grant him tired drowsiness enough to go to sleep he didn’t know but at least his limbs began to feel more comfortable. He closed his eyes as he settled in for good; lying on his back, his right placed on his stomach, his left close enough to the open drawer.

He hadn’t actually thought that it would ever come this far between them, that such aversion would grow. But it had, slowly, steadily, and now they were at this impasse. Well, George wouldn’t back down. Not until he was given what he felt was his due. Respect. Acceptance. Or, at the very least, presenting a significant threat to Ross’ unbearable snobbery. For all his sympathies for the common man it was never beyond him to remind George of his humble origins if roused with anger.

George’s right slowly played with his chest hair and lightly circled his left nipple. He had offered him the hand of friendship often enough now and Ross had rejected it as many times. Which, at the heart of the matter, was a shame. They were both men of ambition and if they worked together George was sure that profit was to be gained. Especially since they would not use most of their energy in upsetting each other. George’s thumb brushed over his nipple and he breathed out slowly at the pleasant touch, repeating the motion with a bit more pressure. It was all unlikely, though. Their behaviour would always be coined by clenched jaws and furrowed brows. Giving a low sigh George brought his other hand to his stomach and lightly ran it over his skin in slow circles. His body was beginning to feel tired and the warmth in the room seemed to cover him in agreeable lightness rather than suffocate him. His hands on his skin felt nice and whatever tension the whisky hadn’t managed to resolve George’s own touches were. The gentle wind coming from between the curtains washed over his body and to the sensation of a light pinch of his nipple his cock began to stir.

Clenched jaws, furrowed brows. If he were as strong-minded in bed as he was in the courtroom… George breathed out quietly as he remembered the pure confidence that this man exuded. Something about it was so infuriating and at the same time utterly fascinating; whether he liked it or not it pulled him in like no other characteristic. Furrowed brows, dedication in his eyes. And hands, surely calloused from working on the fields around Nampara. George’ right ran leisurely from his stomach to his groin. His own hand was fairly soft but it was easy to imagine rough skin and long, elegant fingers that stood in intriguing contrast to his own. Stroking over his flat stomach, playing with the trail of hair that led to the place he actually wanted that hand. A quiet sigh escaped George’s lips as he outlined his body with his right while his left had taken over the task of rubbing his other nipple, hard to the touch and giving him a wonderful shiver when he gently tweaked it. He arched his back ever so lightly to lean into his own touch while his right moved further down to touch his cock. He was half-hard but George was in no rush. For now the tingling sensation that began to build in his body was exactly what he wanted. That and thoughts of calloused hands stroking him. His fingers ran over his cock and in his mind’s eye he saw _him_ standing in front of him, taller by a mere inch yet almost looming over George. In his back George could almost feel the wall of the dingy alley, a stone’s throw away from the main road where people were passing. _Ross is leaning casually against the wall, half a smile on his lips as he looks at George. His hand is submerged in George’s breeches, stroking him teasingly._ His heart beat faster and under his own strokes George felt his cock turn entirely hard. _Ross leaning closer, a scent of leather and hay about him. ‘Do you like that?’ he asks with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes._ George’s breath quickened as he imagined Ross’ voice. The low tone he would surely take in such a situation, a slight growl underneath the otherwise smooth timbre. And how he’d like that, feeling Ross’ hand on his erection. Somewhere in public, fully dressed and with a faint chance of being found out. George moaned at the vivid images in his mind while his hand moved along his cock. His left had eased off his nipples and wandered down to cup his testicles; the warmth spreading through his groin from his touches was wonderful. Every last bit of tension was gone and replaced by another kind of anticipation altogether.

His left hand gently fondled his testicles and then drew away while his right continued to touch his cock in light and easy strokes. He didn’t want to come too soon – this particular mood he was in was too intriguing to not be relished. George fumbled across the drawer’s opening and along the loaded pistol, farther into the back until he found a small jar. His fingers closed around it and he took it out. Another measured stroke of his hand and he let go of his cock. The lack of pressure made his hips roll slowly and the rustling of the sheet sounded while he opened the jar and dipped the fingers of his right hand into the ointment. Then, he placed the jar next to him and with a sigh he returned his right to his erection. This time, George’s grip was tighter and he moaned when he closed his fingers around it. The ointment was slightly cool and tingled pleasantly on his hot skin, the smooth texture making it easy to spread it over his erection. George’s breath quickened when he moved his hand; in teasing slowness he pumped his cock without varying the pace for now. If only it were Ross’ hand or even better, his mouth… _Ross kneeling on this bed, naked, between his thighs. His curls fall into his eyes as he sucks George’s cock, his full lips sending sparks through George’s groin. The slow drag of his mouth, the tongue flicking over the head and_ George moaned louder as he drew his thumb over the tip of his cock. Ross’ mouth would surely feel incredible. Warm, wet, and a suction that made George shiver just thinking about it. Ross would hold his hips down and still George wouldn’t be able to help himself and thrust into his mouth.

With his left George grabbed the second pillow on the bed and pushed it under his hips. Instead of picking up the strokes George pushed his hips up, letting his cock slide through his steady hand. His temples were sweaty and arousal spread not only through his groin but through his entire body now; another kind of heat than the external one and his left grabbed the side of the mattress for more leverage. Hard licks would alternate with soft teasing ones while Ross knelt between his legs, his curls tickling George’s skin. The hollowing of his cheeks a sight to behold and George moaned loudly as he thrust harder into his hand. And Ross wouldn’t just stop there. George fumbled for the open jar next to him. His shaky fingers dipped into the ointment while his hips lay back on the cushion. His right, however, began to stroke anew. Sweat covered his body in a thin layer and the sheet under him was no longer cool but George didn’t mind.

Under his strokes he felt the slickness of his cock and the head so soft to the touch. And oh so responsive – with every flick of his wrist he sent another shiver down his middle. George’s left gently fondled his testicles again and his breath hitched. The things Ross and he could do, the things he wanted him to do... _George on all fours and Ross behind him, his hands running over his back and cheeks._ _Ross’ naked body is shimmering in the candle light behind him while George kneels with spread legs, utterly exposed._ George’s legs fell open and he drew them up so that the sole of his feet touched the bedding. _Ross’ hands are resting on his cheeks and with a tight grip he spreads them, leaning forward to…_ George gasped as he ran one slick finger across his entrance in a smooth yet drawn out move. The wetness of Ross’ tongue, the slow lick he’d start with before repeating the movement faster. The cool ointment made his heart jump and George moaned when he drew his finger along his hole again in imitation of Ross’ tongue, imagining the brush of his stubble against his soft skin. A perfect blending of opposite sensations that would make George stretch his back into the touch. Oh, just remaining there on his hands and knees and struggling to keep still would be such sweet torture and George would enjoy every second of it. _Ross, breathing on his wet skin and making George give an unwanted gasp at the sudden coolness. Ross, circling his entrance; his clever tongue outlining the tight ring and_ George’s thighs trembled as his finger followed the motions in his head with dedication. The changing pressure felt so _good_ and the slick sensation the ointment left only heightened the intensity of his imagination. Ross would tease him with his tongue flat against his hole to make him needy, would keep him on all fours to make sure he didn’t touch himself. George shivered at the thought; then, Ross would dip into him. Just a minimal flutter of resistance and his finger _Ross’ tongue_ pushed into him – a strained gasp came from his lips as his imagination and action aligned and George couldn’t help but buck into his own touch. His right worked his erection harder now as he aimed to control his finger inside him. Just a bit, not too far, to keep the illusion up, to imagine the swipe of Ross’ tongue…

George threw his head back and pushed against the pillow in his neck. His back arched lightly in the motion and he felt his muscles flex under his sweaty skin, all tense and keen on release. One finger was simply not enough. His body felt flooded with hot arousal and in sudden need he pushed another finger inside him. His hole stretched under his attention and with a grunt George shoved his digits deeper. God, the sudden drag almost made George come then and there. Rubbing along his passage his fingers added to the pressure on his cock – he wouldn’t last long now, not with the tight grip on his erection and _Ross pushing him into the mattress, his cock pounding into George, his mouth kissing and biting at his shoulder blades. George’s skin covered in sweat, his erection rubbing against the linen in tune with Ross’ thrusts, his hands grabbing the bedding…_ George moved his fingers in a quick rhythm, pushing them deep while his right moved in hard and fast strokes. Tension built in his lower stomach and spread fast and fiery – his nerves felt alight and his head was reeling with arousal, with images of Ross, with the feeling of Ross’ cock inside him. Sweat made his hair stick to his temples and his lips were dry, parted, his own panting breaths hitting his chest and with a guttural moan George climaxed. His fingers pushed in to the knuckles, motionless, as he came over his hand in spurts. _Ross_ … George shuddered and gooseflesh broke out on his skin. He felt like in two places at once – here, in his bedroom, and coming under Ross’ thrusts, calling out his name and _feeling_ his cock twitching in his passage as it sent wave after wave of pleasure and release through him.  His right jerked his cock and spread his come along his length and George pushed his shoulders into the mattress, riding out the sensations with his whole body. His chest was heaving with ragged breaths and George couldn’t mute himself even if he wanted.

His orgasm ran through him in an intensity which couldn’t last; far too soon it receded, the pressure in his groin gone and his grip slowing down, easing up. His heart beat heavily as he let go of himself, slowly and with another gentle stroke over his softening cock, and placed his hands next to him on the mattress.

God, how he had needed that. All traces of tension that had coined the whole day were gone when he simply lay on his sheets and felt this high, this utterly exhilarating high, recede. His breath came steadier now and the prevailing sound of his own heartbeat quieted in his ears, replaced by the wind murmuring through the trees outside. His muscles felt comfortably heavy and thankfully, his busy mind was quiet. George sighed in relaxation when another light gust of wind came through the curtains and cooled his sweaty body. His fingers gingerly reached for the bed stand one last time and took out a tissue from a lower drawer – no thoughts of loaded pistols and possible trespassers remained when he cleaned himself up with heavy movements and finally followed the seductive pull of sleep on both his body and mind.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :)


End file.
